


Darkest Diaries

by HonestMerchant



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Blood and Gore, Fanart, Implied Sexual Content, In Character, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, POV First Person, Sexual Abuse, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HonestMerchant/pseuds/HonestMerchant
Summary: Come on in and take a gander; pay no attention to mischievous slander.The denizens of the hamlet have much to lose but even more to gain. The tale unfolds in weekly installments following the course of a normal game play-through from different character's points of view. Our heroes will face more trials than just the game's expeditions as the details of character relationships get filled in between the lines.Entries may or may not contain sketches done by me at my leisure. Mod characters referenced in the story (since it's based on the events of my actual playthrough) but do not feature prominently.





	1. It Begins

# It Begins

### Week 7 - Bounty Hunter (Scholar)

_“I traveled The Old Road because I heard that there were brigands and poachers to poach. I never could have imagined the fresh and flourishing Hell that awaited us. None of us trust that stagecoach to carry us back out the way we came. Only the insane, diseased, and maimed seem to leave that way, and I don’t fancy the way the driver’s head seems to bobble free from his shoulders._

_When I arrived, I found to my immediate and overwhelming displeasure that there was no organized authority to claim bounties from. The slowly swelling tent city that held wanderers, murderers, priests, and abominations alike clustered around the decayed township. All of it–the construction, our expeditions, even our leisure time at some points–directed and financed by The Descendent. An air of despair hangs over the surroundings as we fight the monsters inhabiting the region, each other, and our own wills daily. But I’m not complaining._

_The wealth of knowledge to be found here is astonishing. They used to call me **Scholar** back when I was with my band. I used to be a mercenary, until most of our number got wiped out and we drifted apart. While they were quick to claim women and wine as their spoils, they mocked me when I took a book from a travelling wagon we had “foraged.” I was a scribe with a penchant for axes before that, so I was one of the few out of my brothers who could read. They didn’t complain when I read to them around the burning remains of the wagon that night._

_It’s only my first week here, but a peek at the scraps from The Ancestor’s journal that “The Usual Suspects,” the oldest and most experienced group around, brought back from their latest expedition has me desperate to enter the manor. I’ve always been a bibliophile, but I have never felt such an all-consuming passion. Maybe it’s the air.”_

 

 

### Week 8 - The Highwayman (Dismas)

_"Reynauld’s become a monster. Always hated his guts and always will, but I knew when we squared off with them bandits on the road in that he was a stuck up fucker that I could trust with my back. And a **highwayman** don’t show his back lightly. Now I gotta worry about this little shit flipping up his visor and chomping down on my neck during every scrap. He’s got The Hunger, The Curse, whatever they call it, just like Junia. But I know she’d never do nothin’ bad._

_It’s not like I can run with anyone else. We were the first here: me, Reynauld, Junia, and Doc. “The Usual Suspects,” they call us. All of ‘em that wandered in later couldn’t ever get close to us on account of our camaraderie and whatnot. Tends to happen when you face heavy shit like death together. Lot’s of cliques round here, just like in the gangs._

_Doc seems to be taking it fine. She stays all covered up anyway, like the women from Zred’s country. Could’na be bit even if they tried with them fangs. Ya know, I didn’t even know she was a she until after we put that necromancer’s apprentice into the fucking ground where he belonged. Lotta lumps under that cloth but the mask never came off. Made the voice kinda weird and dull, you know? When she did speak. Doc only ever takes off her mask around me. Honestly, dunno if Reynauld or Junia care or know. She must not trust the righteous type. Smart."_

 

### Week 9 - The Occultist (Alhazred)

_"The ruins hold the key. Considering all of the time I’ve wasted and the non-answers I’ve dredged from the abyss, it’s vexing. I will find the key here, but it will not be an easy task. Unlike that **Bounty Hunter** , I know that mere records will not avail us. A carefully woven web of words can trap just as easily as any fowler’s snare. I have studied in the madrasas, and watched the written word turn astray the most brilliant imams._

_We are sent to those ruined halls for heirlooms and hoards of gold or silver, but that is not the real treasure hidden in its many corridors. **The Butcher**  and  **The Falconer**  dread to see those animated skeletons emerge from the shadows, and  **The Sacrifice**  remains mute, like always. But I relish each moment before we must dash them down before we’re gutted. I know the human body intimately, at least at its surface, but I cannot understand how the bones seem to move. It is a dark magic, yes, but how do our own manage, and why must they use blood and breath to do so? Maybe there is a magic in us all, dark or otherwise._

_I will have to talk to **The Doctor**. They are woefully uneducated but at least they have seen some of the things that I have. It is better than nothing, and perhaps in the process of enlightening the cretin I will reach some discovery of my own. I hope they are not too distracted. There is trouble brewing in their party, but I do not know the cause. I shall pray on it tonight. I find that holding my skull not only helps me to focus my powers, but also to think more clearly. It is a dear gift. I miss you, revered teacher."_

 

### Week 10 - The Highwayman (Dismas)

_"We had to go into the courtyard yesterday. Hate that place. Don’t wanna end up like Reynauld. I warned him when I saw those fuckin buzzers but he wadn’t fast ‘nough. Its stupid beak thing plunged through his armor like one of my bullets. That shit, the curse, was spreading and we had to go find bottles of blood. Ya! Fucking bottles of it. Some cheeky shit’s been puttin it in wine crates or something. The Court is fucked, man._

_The infected can’t satisfy themselves on sucking blood from someone else without leaving em with nothin’ left, and none of us are stupid enough to volunteer to be dead. It does seem to take the edge off though. Before Reynauld turned Junia used to drink from a cut on his arm in the cloister where no one could see ‘em. Didn’t mind when me and Doc were ‘round though. We’d seen worse o’ each other out in the field, where the real shit goes down. Anyway, now she can’t. Something ‘bout how blood with the crimson curse burns._

_So, Junia came to me to ask for help before the expedition. I wouldn’t have trusted Reynauld to do it, but Junia’s got  the sweetest heart. I let her drink straight from my neck. Even took my bandana off. It just stung, really. She was close. She smelled good. Even though she looks so pale now she was still so warm. If she asks again I’ll let her. I had Doc patch the holes--even the tiniest holes can get infected when some gross little fucker decides to puke on you in the warrens--and she didn’t seem happy ‘bout it. But I trust Junia. She’d never hurt me."_

 

### Week 11 - The Leper (Baldwin)

_"I need to touch her. I would settle for anyone that draws breath, but I’d rather it be her. I have been afflicted for many years, and been shunned for only slightly fewer, but in all of my wanderings since then I have never felt such a pressing need. She gasped when she saw what lay beneath my mask, but she didn’t shun me like the others that knew. The Plague Doctor looked on with utter passivity, the only one to ever do so. I can not imagine what he must have seen, but whatever expression he held behind that mask, he betrayed none of it. I cannot say what gave me the impression except my own desirous imagination, but he seemed to want to touch the rot.  But who would ever?_

_To be separated from the world by metal, and from that by constantly damp linen, is becoming unbearable. The thrill of fighting, of cutting down the fishfolk and other monsters is a primal thing. It makes my blood pump, and my bandaging grow wetter. The cloying scent of blood and sweat makes me want to reach out and touch more of the world, but alas. It is my burden. I know not whether it is some curse or a disease, but my last hope for a cure lies in these forsaken fens. I cannot return to my people afflicted. They do not deserve such disgrace."_


	2. The Pace Quickens

# The Pace Quickens

 

### Week 12 - The Crusader (Reynault)

 

_"I am wasting. But I deserve no less."_

 

### Week 13 - The Arbalest (Missandei)

 

_"Second time I’ve been down to the Warrens. Wasn’t better than the first. Probably worse, because I knew what was waiting down in the dark. Couldn’t get it done in one like last time. Going to have nightmares about sleeping in the filth, maybe forever. It’s not the swine that get to me, even though they’re horrifying enough. It’s the dirt. The disease. Least Scholar could look ahead and tell us when we had to go waist-deep. He’s a good scout. Glad he was with us._

_Thank god for T **he Surgeon** too. He knows how to keep things clean. Disinfected our wounds every time he did some minor bit of surgery on us. Probably why I didn’t have to make multiple visits to the sanitarium. He’s creepy as hell but I owe him. Earned that cocky attitude I think. Even took down one of the little guys with his scalpel. Didn’t let him use it on me afterwards though, even though he cleaned it._

_We knew something was down there, herding the swine and driving them towards the hamlet at night to kidnap. Scholar managed to track the source of the raiding parties down through the tunnels. Sharp eyes. Might let him shoot my baby. Figure he’d be good at it. Can’t say the same about **The Butcher** though. Even more off-putting than The Surgeon, even though he didn’t say much. Spent a little too much time staring at the corpses he made. Don’t want to speak ill, though. We’ve all got our issues. Myself included. He proved himself in the end. Might not want to share a drink with him but I trust him on the field._

_The Swine Prince was a cut above the monster’s we’d seen. But we were ready. Scholar directed our attacks at its exposed brain. I kept it blinded with flares so it couldn’t target whoever the little one flagged down. We kept at it until it was a pool of blood and meat. Not much different from how it looked to begin with. Had to leg it when the squealing all around us got too loud. They poured in from tunnels all around but we held them off while we escaped. Near thing, but we killed The Swine Prince and his boyfriend. Pretty sure. Never going to forget those squeals. That muck. Gonna have to clean my baby again tonight."_

 

### Week 14 - Man-at-arms (Barristan)

_"The third and fourth rounds were on me last night, but I feel clear as rain this morning. Never had a hangover in my life in fact. Everybody always asks me how I can wake up the next day without feeling like my eyeballs are about to pop out of my head, but all I can really say is that I’m stronger than them! Got a will o’ iron and a gut of steel, they used to say to me. I’m proud of my boys and gals though. They made it through in one piece this time with my protection. That **Hellion** , Boudica, looked damn fine with that whirlwinding axe of hers. Might pay her a visit later. I know she was eyeing me._

_The Cove is by far the most dangerous region, so of course **The Heir** sent me in to scout it out and recover his family heirlooms. Good lad, that one. Smart. The fishfolk are stronger and more cunning by far than mindless skeletons or rotting swine, but I gave them a right good bashing. Monsters are nothing compared to men, and I’ve lain low many times more than my fair share of brutes and baddies during the war. They’ll learn to fear Barristan._

_Only thing that’s got the man-of-steel here worried are those bloodsuckers. The infestation is spreading, and they’re travelling farther than ever from the fens if they’ve made it out to the cove. Every time I take a hit for my squad I roll the dice on the curse. I heard what happened to **The Vestal** , so I know that’s how it shakes out, and I’m pretty sure **The Crusader** is hiding something under that helmet of his. If I get cursed, I’m sure the ladies will be lining up to offer me a drink, and I’m afraid it’ll be a terrible distraction. Wouldn’t want anybody wandering off into the courtyard to track down the cure for me. And if I go mad with thirst, who will hold us all together?"_

 

### Week 15 - The Vestal (Junia)

_"Vereor Nox. The Light has surely guided me to this unholy place to banish The Dark. Tomorrow we set out to lay low the false prophet, raving and mad. It brings me sorrow to see such great passion misdirected by a false god and blasphemous promises. Perhaps if **The Ancestor** had lent an ear to such dire portents, this entire undertaking might not have been necessary. I have read the archives. The prophet may not be at fault for his own madness, for the hearts of men are weak and need nurturing. And if not acceptance, perhaps compassionate understanding could have assuaged him. I cannot speak to whether the Light revealed to him true prophecy or if they were mad ramblings. The journey is unique to each child of the Light, after all._

_I am truly blessed to have been brought together with such stalwart companions, and I know we shall surely overcome these trials. Reynault is my brave knight, and has protected me since we first arrived. He carries some torturous past still and he tells me, “Regret is sin,” but I can tell he still holds the same, although he has yet to reveal his scars in certain terms. I wish I could offer my blood to him, but we both have the curse and it burns like fire to share blood now. He refuses to partake, but the Light surely would not abandon us for this misfortune. It is just another a trial, and I have my task to complete, and he has his. My heart aches for him that I cannot convince him of this. He has always kept me safe from the creatures in the dark, and from the grasping hands in this den of sin. Yet he will not remove his helmet, even in the cloister, as if it could be worse than poor Baldwin. He was so handsome before._

_Dismas has grown more wary of him. They have always had a friendship, one such between men that I can never truly understand, but I can tell that something has changed. I know not from where this new uneasiness comes from, for Dismas seems to accept my affliction while others remain frightened. When the ache became too much I went to him for relief._

_He is a good man. Like Reynault I can see the haunting beneath those dark irises, but he has accepted the penance of a sinner in laying down his life for our cause. It has become almost a daily occurance. He tastes very sweet, while Reynault tasted only of iron. I think it is because he has a good and trusting heart, while Reynault still keeps his guarded. I have even seen underneath that bandana he always wears. It occurs to me that we are all fond of masks. Paracelsus herself never seems to remove hers. I suspect she is a woman at least, but I do not actually know. There are many secrets left between us, it seems. But I trust them all. We will triumph tomorrow."_

 

### Week 16 - The Occultist (Alhazred)

_"She is a corpse. Returned to dust, like all the rest. **The Falconer** was struck down by a bolt to the heart, and we were forced to retreat a man down and **The Butcher** hanging by a thread. We didn’t even have time to take her body with us. The missile struck her in the chest. It must have pierced her heart, because it bled considerably. I believe it must have slipped between the ribs and the sternum, because I did not see any fractured bone in the wound where the bolt had passed through. It is strange, that the heart should be so wide when I have seen the heart of a woman, **The Sacrifice’s** , with much smaller dimensions. She did not protest when I took it into my hands, and it seemed to possess some great resilience and hardening to exist outside of her body._

_But the falconer was struck in her blood-holding organ, so perhaps the heart is off-center in the human body, although that is not what the diagrams at the Great Library showed. I am beginning to understand that much that I have read is not to be trusted. To dissect a human body is to desecrate the divine flesh designed by God, and is Haram. But I only looked through that hole in her chest. I didn’t have enough time to truly explore before **The Flagellant** dragged me off of her. I think I threw an elbow at his face, and I must apologize for that later._

_It’s just, to see the layers of the torso so neatly aligned through that bored hole was enlightening. The study of the human body is the future of medicine, and the knowledge of anatomy held in the greatest libraries in my nation have proven to be inadequate. If I am to heal the wounded, and to cure their illnesses, I must have a more advanced understanding of the flesh. I do not even know to or from where the blood of the heart goes, or by what manner. I’ve heard that a “surgeon” from some far off country has come, but I’ve yet to meet him. Dissection is Haram, and that lesson has been drilled into me by my beloved teacher, but is it not a holy pursuit to save lives? Surely God will forgive me, no?"_


	3. These Wicked Wendings

#  These Wicked Wendings

 

### Week 17 - The Graverobber (Audrey)

I love him, but damn him. Damn him for being so trusting, damn him for being so charitable, damn him for being so handsome, and damn him for leaving me behind. When my parents married me off to him, I thought I was a caged bird. I never really shook off that feeling, because even tender care can be stifling. I was blind, but now I see. Being stuck in this decaying backwater hamlet is the most vicious cage by far, but when we choose our prisons the claustrophobia vanishes in the tunnel vision. Whether The Heir’s house rises from ruin, I care not a whiff; I will not let my house fall down that path. 

There is great potential here. The graves are many, and wide, and unturned. The Heir won’t care if a trinket or four goes missing, especially if it's gained on a careful detour. Slipping away in the night to “scout” was easy. They actually listened when I told them not to wait up. Bigby even told me to be careful. I can’t understand why some of the more prissy amongst us refuse to work with the so-called  **Abomination** . He’s actually a real sweetheart, and you just need to stay back a little when he gets out of control. I suppose some people are too busy tripping over their own self-righteousness to get out of the way. The way he tears apart the brigands of the Weald and then has the grace to look ashamed about it is adorable. He even split one of their skulls in half, which made it all too easy to pull out the bastard’s gold tooth.

I’ll have to keep an eye out for the others. Sarmenti grabbed my ass, but unlike the others that tried without showing some coin first he danced away from my knife quick as rain with a disconcerting giggle and apologetic shrug. Not so often that I meet someone slippier than this girl. You see, I thought I knew what he wanted--I wear the pants tight for a reason--but after we finished off a group of wild dogs, I caught  **The Jester** drinking from my hip flask. While I do admire his skills I don’t appreciate the competition for Head Requisitions Officer of the hamlet. And speaking of dogs, I noticed  **The Houndmaster** kept picking up bits of the mushroom men we were cutting down, so I skipped the stew he made that night. Pretty sure I caught him munching on one in his sleeping roll on my way away, so I’ll call that call a good call. 

I found something quite nice after shooing off the midnight mice. An edelweiss cast in gneiss with a central stone held by a vise thrice as long as it is twice as thick as it was tall. It should fetch thrice the selling price of the last device or that bag of allspice. Surely paradise and every vice awaits if I pass on such merchandise. I’d like to repaint the drawing room. I always used to think it was the most boring place in the house but I miss those quiet moments with him. Is it weird that I said thrice, twice? Anyway, to be concise, it wouldn’t be imprecise to say I’d like to hold on to it, but the dice have been rough and require sacrifice. It’s not like The Heir pays for more than equipment and food, and it smarts to have to pass on everything that I can’t hide away in the pockets of this old coat. “Time is money,” our vintner always used to say. Time is money. Money is time. And money is freedom.

 

### Week 18 - The Bounty Hunter (Scholar)

Drama in the Hamlet today: more than usual, in fact. Me and Missandei caught Reynault and Dismas dragging Barristan into the cloister. They somehow caught him with his armor off, and I’ve only ever seen him in his tunic in the brothels. I don’t know what kind of soldier he was to be so used to going around in full kit, but we were never so disciplined. They were all making such a fuss that they didn’t notice us watch the beat down.  **The Man-at-arms** got his shit kicked in real good.  **The Plague Doctor** was standing outside, but didn’t seem keen to offer any healing when Barristan was left in a bruised and bloody pile on the floor.  **The Vestal** was nowhere to be seen. Whatever tiff The Usual Suspects had going on amongst themselves seemed to have been buried with Barristan’s swagger, because I saw Dismas with his arm around Reynault in the tavern that night. His visor was up, which is a rarity none of us have seen for weeks. He honestly didn’t look as bad as I expected.

I paid a visit to Barristan’s tent when I knew he was indisposed. I’d heard from  **The Hellion** that he’d gotten his hands on some of The Ancestor’s memoirs in the ruins. She only spoke of it to tell us about how she’d smashed a spider the size of a small dog with the rolled up journal pages. “Just a bunch of naked guys,” was what she had to say about what the fragments contained. The piles of ancient tomes strewn through the ruined manor were one thing, but to see the scraps of knowledge that had borne the horrors that we hunted daily--that was too good to resist. The diagrams are some of the best I’ve ever seen, and the notes in the margins are clear and concise.

I’ll have to show Alhazred what I’ve found. I know he distrusts the treatises I have shared with him before, but the frightful results of these experiments lie bare before us day after day. Surely he cannot dismiss these thorough guidelines, and he may help me to make sense of some of these images. The Usual Suspects have seen the necromancer’s work at play, and slain it. Although, we have all sensed the stirring of the same returned--or other--dark sorcerer from the ruins. If it does make its return I shall be the first to volunteer to go after it. Perhaps I could find it’s lab and get my hands on some of the notes. Alhazred would surely let me take a peek at some of those intimidating grimoires he keeps hidden away in exchange. 

 

### Week 19 - The Jester (Sarmenti)

Another. Another. A cause. A lost cause. Another lost cause. Can’t count the number I’ve seen. Like every time I open my eyes it’s some new battlefield. Don’t know what happens in between. Like every time I close my eyes there’s nothing. Don’t know why I keep opening them. It’s like a reflex. Like the lute. Never going to forget how to play it. Thanks, grandpa. Whenever I touch those strings I just know. I can’t stop the laughing. Sometimes it’s so hard it hurts. Makes me want to cry. And then I do. But it sounds like laughing. Thanks, grandma. They’re all going to die. Going to have to find a shovel. Going to have to dig deeper this time. Maybe  **The Highwayman** will give up that bottle I know he’s got hidden. Red. Red on the canvas. Red wine. The quill scratching, taps out a staccato beat. Staining tawny pages with his own admissions. Seen his kind before more times than I have memories of my mother. Contrition. Poor bastards. Aren’t we all though. You see, it’s more comforting to think that bad things only happen to those who deserve it, and that surely misery isn’t doled out as easily to saints as it is to sinners, and that the world is just, and that we can ever know what’s wrong with us, and that there’ll be catharsis out here. Why else would they come. I just come to watch.  **The Graverobber** is a terror with those knives. Always has the best booze too. Sticky fingers. Sugar and blood. Both’ll do in a pinch. The four most contrite are the best and worst to watch. Mayhaps I’ll pen a romantic comedy for their tragedy. No shortage of materials here. But I’m no bard. Not right now. Worn that mask enough. More laughs than somber gloom nowadays. Need it here. Watching the varying shades of madness descend into varying mad shades gives me clarity. No use for clarity though. Unless it’s  **The Flagellant’s** . He understand pain. He’ll always be the philosopher he pretends not to be. You don’t stop being a thinker when you reach your conclusions. For us, the darkness closes in. Nothing worth seeing anyway. Wolves baying. Be the alpha. Some of them get it. The old secrets. They can be new secrets. Madness all around. It’s the only way. Back to it. Burns going down, burns coming back up. Just like dying, ey?

 

### Week 20 - The Flagellant (Damian)

By God’s will we have slain a grave sinner today. Her wickedness twists the very ground, and it is her miasma that renders The Weald unfit for forage. During the week past, by God’s grace we have cleared the way to The Hag by slaying her licentious lieutenants and mapping the shifting woods to the best of our ability. The stench there is thick and cloying. Only the sharp iron tang of blood can distract me.  **The Occultist** does wonderfully in that regard, healing greater wounds at the cost of shed blood. Despite what one might think, I do not hate him for his apostasy. The weapons of The Enemy can be turned against the dark powers. All things under The Kingdom of Heaven are His providence, no? As long as he remembers himself, every tool must be used to best the minions of Hell we face here. He is a good man. I had to drag him off of **The Falconer** when she was slain by vile creatures. Doubtless he wished to give her a proper burial so that her soul could find peace, but God does value practicality as well. I returned later to give the bones the proper rites. In any case, I shall just have to keep a careful watch over him.

The valiant **Crusader** , the blessed **Vestal** , and those two other vagabonds were able to make straight for The Hag after we cleared the way. Her foul magics were no match for the heroes, although Reynault seemed to have returned partially boiled. The way his burned and blistered skin peeled away when he removed his armor was divine. Surely he will find retribution in such penance. If he is who I think him to be, I have heard of his exploits before. His sins must be grave indeed to have pursued redemption in the crusades so fervently. There is a lion amongst us, no doubt. 

He must feel some kinship with  **The Leper** , considering the state of his penance. Now, Baldwin’s is a deep state indeed. I have never asked him what grave sin he had committed to deserve such righteous punishment. He is from a kingdom of God, however, and we get along merrily. He doesn’t speak much; it must be quite painful for him to do so. God has graced him with the mind to Listen when I Speak. He will surely find redemption here. There are those here who are less deserving, but we all suffer for forgiveness in our own way. They who are not yet sufficiently penitent must suffer more. That is nature of things. My eyes have been open since the day they tore my eyelids off and I saw for the first time the holy and blessed light. There are shadows here, but everywhere there is not darkness there can only be light. I will save these undeserving souls. 

 

### Week 21 - The Crusader (Reynault)

Regret is sin. 

But I am grateful for the current order of things.

God wills it.


End file.
